


Cracked Vocals and Disheartened Singers

by Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff and Angst, How the heck do I even tag this?, In a way, Just fluff with a side of angst really, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace/pseuds/Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Patrick knew something was off before he even sang the first verse.He cracked…he fucking cracked during a live performance."</p><p>Patrick is a little bit more than upset at his own performance during the BBMAs, and Pete tries to reassure him otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracked Vocals and Disheartened Singers

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the BBMAs performance of Uma Thurman, and I know on tumblr, there were a few post about Patrick's voice cracking and how disappointed and "unhappy" he looked afterwards. I have to admit, I noticed it after watching the performance about three times, since I was so wrap up in the fact that it was Uma Thurman which was flippin' amazing. 
> 
> Anyways, here's some fluff for you. Updates for "In the Breaking" and my Coffeeshop AU series "Coffee Beans and Vinyl Records" will be coming soon.
> 
> All mistakes are mine, as this work is unbeta'd
> 
> Enjoy!

Patrick would be the first to admit, that really wasn’t his best performance, and he hoped his disappointment didn’t show too much.

They had all been really pumped for this, and how could they not, it was their second time performing “ _Uma Thurman_ ” at a major award show/event, the first being at in the Global Citizen Earth Day in D.C. Rehearsals went as smoothly as could be, Patrick hitting every note, everything in tune, the dancers looking amazing, and Wiz killing his verse. So when Patrick felt himself cough a little while on the red carpet, he didn’t think of it much, nothing a little water wouldn’t fix, he thought to himself.

But when they hit the stage, Joe plucking out the Munsters theme song sample, Patrick knew something was off before he even sang the first verse. He cracked…he fucking cracked during a live performance. Gosh, he hadn’t cracked live since that one time he got fucking sick and nearly lost his voice while touring for _Folie_.

Immediately, his demeanor changed, his was embarrassed, scared, and Patrick was pretty sure it showed when he didn’t dance around as much, even on this small of a stage. He caught Pete sending him worried glances as he pushed through the song, his throat feeling dry and becoming hoarse, as he forces the note out, his voice raspy, but the music helps cover it up, even if it was for a moment.

Suddenly, nothing felt right, he felt off, but he knew he was in tune and on beat, but everything just felt wrong. The strawberry blonde felt himself over use his voice in some parts, mainly in the chorus, and to say that he didn’t feel the dry pull of his vocal chords as he reached up for that now, feeling as if he had forced it even harder, he was pretty confident he would begin to taste blood…to say that it didn’t fucking _hurt_ , both physically and maybe even mentally, would have been a blatant lie, but, ever the show man that he had grown to become over the years, Patrick was not about the give up, not when they’ve been looking forward to this since they were asked to perform months ago and knew exactly what to sing. It fucking painful to hit notes, and he’s pretty sure the world could hear the strain and agony in his voice.

He turns away from the audience more than usual, and the guys catch it. Joe moves away from his mic and hides his face for a moment, bright blue eyes asking Patrick if he was okay, just as the audience’s attention falls to Wiz. Patrick bits his lip and gives a small nod before he feels Pete come close and Andy send reassuring vibes his way. By the time he knows it, his the chorus is coming up and he faces the audience once more to finish, and it goes as well as it possibly could, at least to the people on the other side of their personal little wall.

As the audience cheers, he sees Taylor pump her fist in the air from the first row and others cheering him on…Patrick really doesn’t think he deserves it, not after that shitty performance. He tries not to let it show that he’s disappointed in his performance, but he’s pretty sure some people can tell, well, at least Pete, Joe, and Andy can. As the lights fade, they make their way off the stage, as their crew begins to pack everything up with clockwork precision. He hands his guitar to a tech and quickly tries to get way from everything, to go back to the green room, back to their suite, hell, just back _home_. He doesn’t even make it a few steps before he feels someone grab his arm, stopping him from going further. He doesn’t need to turn to know it’s Pete, looking at him with whiskey colored eyes that he really could never really say ‘no’ to.

“Patrick, hang on baby. What’s wrong?” his voice comes out, strong and soothing, but low enough not to draw any suspicion. There are people bustling and rushing about them, and none of them seem to be paying them any attention. “Patrick…?”

He wants to scream, wants to scream at Pete, and tell him he fucked up, that he fucking failed the one performance they had been practicing for at every show since the album dropped. Patrick wants to tell Pete that he’s a fucking disappointment, and that he failed the Joe, Andy, and that he failed his own fucking boyfriend…but he doesn’t. Right now Patrick has the fire, he’s always had that fire, but he just doesn’t have the energy or the will to start something.  

He’s close to frustrated tears and the bassist must have picked up on that, as the space between them is closed and he feels arms wrap around his shoulders, his face falling into the soft fabric of Pete’s well-loved checkered shirt. To anyone else it would have seemed like a friendly ‘bro-hug’ but the longer and tighter Pete held onto the singer, the more apparent it was, to anyone who lived under a fucking rock for the last four or so years, that Pete and Patrick were far beyond it. “What do you need right now, ‘Trick?” he asked softly, he could feel another hand squeeze his shoulder, and another rub soothing circles down his arm; Andy and Joe must have caught on to Patrick’s self-loathing, too.

“Some room temp water, or tea would be better,” he says into Pete’s shirt, before adding in a miserable whisper, “My throat hurts.” He feels Pete nod against him, pulling away from him, but still keeping an arm around his shoulder and the strawberry blonde singer close to his side, guiding him back to their dressing room. He hears Andy ask someone of they could get a room temp water bottle, and Joe says that he thought the water cooler in the double-suite-turned-dressing-room had a button or a switch for hot water.

“I’m pretty sure in one of his bags, he might have some tea, can you scope it out, Joe?” asks the bleached blonde bassist, as they enter the dressing room through what was lounge area of the double suite. Patrick worms his way out of Pete’s arms before he settles down on the plush sofa. He wants to rant and rave about the guys babying him, but at the same time, Patrick doesn’t want to be alone, he doesn’t want to be left by himself just to sulk in his thoughts.

Joe returns in seconds from one door on the left, which leads to Pete and Patrick’s shared suite with two tea bags in his hand and a mug in the other, just as Andy comes in with two bottles of waters. They set the stuff down on the small table before saying something about changing back into their suits for the rest of the show, and make their way into the suite door on the right. Pete and Patrick nod as the door shuts to adjoining room, leaving Pete and Patrick to themselves.

Patrick shucks off his jacket before letting his head fall into his hands, while Pete picks up the mug and fills it with hot water from the dispenser, letting the tea bags seep for a second before bringing it over to Patrick. “Here,” he says gently, taking a seat next to Patrick on the sofa. “Careful, babe” he adds as he hands the mug to Patrick, who swirls the seeping tea bags around while sending a half-glare over Pete’s way before closing his eyes and sighing.

“How bad was it?” asked Patrick  after a moment, his voice flat and soft, just above a whisper. He really doesn’t want to over use it and may need to go into vocal rest for the next day or so, but that could wait for a bit. Pete raises his eyebrow at the question, looking puzzled for a moment before the younger man rolls his eyes. “The cracking.”

The tattooed man’s face breaks into a slight realization before he responds. “Not as bad as you think, ‘Trick,” Pete reassures, his hand coming to rest on Patrick’s thigh, “I’m not gonna lie, you heard it in the beginning just a little, but it wasn’t horrible, babe. You plowed through the rest of _Uma_ like a pro.”

Patrick scoffed a bit before taking a sip of hot tea, letting the chamomile soothe his throat. “I mean it, Babe, and I know what you were thinking, Patrick, and you didn’t screw up the song, you cracked, but you made it through, and you fucking kicked ass,” Pete continued on.

“I still fucked up,” he whispered behind his cup, taking another sip before his mug was gently taken out of his hands and placed on the small coffee table in front of them. He made a grab like motions towards the cups as it was drawn out of his reach, pouting a little, as he refused to meet Pete’s gaze.

“Hey,” said Pete, his fingers tracing down the length of his cheek to curl gently underneath his jaw, turning Patrick to face him. “Stop thinking like that,” his voice soft but firm, “It was a slip up, it’s okay. I know you were thinking about it during the song, but I also saw you having fun, even if you didn’t think you were.” Pete smiles, his thumb tracing his plump lower lip. “No one is perfect babe, but you were fucking amazing out there. The fans of twitter and tumblr are blowing up, because we played ‘ _Uma_ ’, and both you and Wiz fucking killed it. Not to mention you looked pretty damn sexy…” he trailed off lowly, leaning in close to meet the singer’s lips with his own, slow lazy kisses that were usually reserved for private moments on the bus, not usually the kind of kisses they share right after a show. Those are desperate, needy, filled with adrenaline of the crowd and the energy of the show itself. Those kinds of kisses usually lead to hurried hand jobs, sloppy blow jobs, or a quick fuck in the bathroom or closet or dressing room. But this isn’t one of those kisses, this one was slow and sweet, everlasting. Patrick’s mind melts as he feels gentle nips at his bottom lips, a soft sound leaving him at the motion. Pete smirks against his lips as he knocks off Patrick’s fedora, letting his fingers run through the fine hair at the nap of his neck as he pulls him in impossibly closer.

Before the kiss could deepen, there is a knock on the door. Pete pulls away and clears his throat, as a bright flush dances on Patrick’s pale cheeks, as he currently wishes death on however so dared to interrupt. “Come in,” he calls out, with a chuckle as he watches Patrick’s annoyance show, and he looks just a fearsome as a fluffy puppy than anything else. The door opens to a young woman wearing a headset and holding a clipboard or a tablet, part of the show crew. “Mr. Wentz, you’re on in 25 minutes, sir.” Pete nods and gives his thanks before the door is closed again, leaving them alone once more.

He leans in to give Patrick one more chaste kiss to those sinfully wonderful lips, before speaking. “I don’t want you to fall into that old mindset you had during _Folie_ , ‘Trick. Not everything has to be perfect, it just has to be every you can do, and what you do is fucking amazing, the guys think so, the internet fucking thinks so….and I know so,” he smiles, kissing the strawberry blonde’s forehead with such tenderness, Patrick wants to just curl up and bury himself in Pete’s chest. “You kicked ass, Baby, and now you gotta rest your voice,…okay?”

Patrick nods before kissing Pete one last time before he goes into their suite to redress in his suite. He picks up his cup and fishes out his phone, contemplating Candy Crush or that 2048 game Andy got him hooked on to pass the time, as he considers whether or not to go back to the show. Part of him says that he should, that knowing the cameras, they would focus on the empty seat next to Pete and start some kind of stupid media headline, but he also thinks about telling the world to fuck it, as he considers sinking deep into the soft sheets and mattress of their suite and watch the rest of the show from the TV, just so he could rest. He’ll decide when Pete gets out, he thinks as he swipes to his next page of apps, but soon, he pauses as he finds his thumb hovering over the Twitter App.

He doesn’t know why he stops, or why he even thinks about opening it, Twitter was never a good place to go to whenever he felt like he had a crappy performance, despite the fact that Pete would wholeheartily disagree. Patrick thinks about it, and seriously does think about opening it. Despite the hecklers, there was always an outpouring of loving support from people around the world, in different parts of the planet. 14 or so years ago, if someone told him he would be part of an internationally loved band that have thousands upon thousands, maybe millions, of fans around the world, just hanging on his twitter and Instagram, listening to his voice sing his best friend’s lyrics, Patrick would have probably scoffed and asked what the fuck you were high on.

He likes to think his thumb slipped as he opened up his TweeterFeed, scrolling to catch the “What’s Trending” and sure enough, ‘Fall Out Boy’ in on the list. His thumb slips again and his screen his filled with tweets, a vast majority praising their performance, the dancers, a few internet assholes, but what catches his eyes are a handful of tweets, maybe five or six.

@patrickstump PRECIOUS FEDORA CHILD YOU WERE AMAZING!!! Careful with that voice of yours… #pleasedonthurtyourself #FallOutBoy #WizKhalifa #THISPRECIOUSCHILDREN

Is @patrickstump sick? If so, get well soon, sounded like you were having trouble. It still was fucking amazing!! #UMATHURMAN #CANTGETYOUOUTOFMYHEAD

Great job but ouch #patrickstump that one part sounded like it hurt… #UmaThurman #FallOutBoy #getwellsoon #FallOutBoy

someone get the beautiful sassy fedora wearing man-child with the golden voice some AKA @patrickstump hot tea or water after that. Blown away but don’t hurt yourself to much my sassy son. #youarestillamazing #iamFOBtrash

Patrick smiles down at his phone for a moment, a smile finding his way to his lips. Of course there are rude tweets, and others laced with hate, but these tweets just show that people care, that some people _do_ remember that even though they’re international rockstars, they’re human too…It makes Patrick’s heart soar to know that there are people who truly do care.

He thinks about replying, but decides against it as Pete steps back out into the lounge, back in his tux from earlier, not even remotely looking like he just finished playing on stage. “So,” starts Pete as he adjust his jacket, “How do I look?” he asks as he spreads his arms wide and flashes the strawberry blonde his infamous stupid grin.

Patrick rolls his eyes with a small smirk as he stands, making his way over to the bassist to smooth down the soft velvet like fabric of his lapels, before moving his hands underneath the jacket, wrapping his arms around Pete’s waist.

“You look ridiculous and utterly hideous,” he says softly, his voice above a whisper, with an annoyed look in his eyes.

Pete, ever the drama king, locks hurt. “Oh, how you _wound_ me, my love,” his whiskey eyed boyfriend retorts playfully. There’s another knock on the door followed by a shout. “Mr. Wentz! 10 minutes, sir!” They don’t pull away as Pete shouts his own reply of “Coming!” before turning back to Patrick. “You know, I might be presenting with Miss America, but I’ll always be my American Beauty,” he smirks deviously.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” giggles Patrick at their little, not-so-secret inside joke, before Pete learns in once again, capturing his lips in another kiss, this one sweeter than the first, calming and reassuring, even as he feels the beginnings of Pete’s own nerves radiate of off him. Their foreheads touch as they pull apart. “You’ll be great,” Patrick smiles.

“Just like you were tonight, baby,” his longtime boyfriend says back, “And don’t ever forget it. You’re the last good thing in his part of town, and I would hate to lose you to that self-doubt in your head like I almost did during _Folie_.” Something in Pete’s tone tugs as his heart, because it’s lack of success on the charts, and how exhausting _Folie_ was to record and produce, it was one of his favorite records, despite his own personal demons and battles Patrick would never admit he was battling at that time.  

“Thank you Pete,” he whispers one last time, kissing him chastely once again.

“Thank _you_ , Lunchbox,” the bleached blond man smiles. “Let’s stay here the rest of the night once I’m done…That bed in the suite looks like it could use a couple of naked bodies underneath the sheets…I’m sure they would look lovely against your waist, ‘Trick,” he smirks, moving to kiss the side of Patrick’s neck, the sensitive spot below his ear.

Patrick closes his eyes at the feather like touch, the thoughts of earlier falling away underneath Pete’s lips. “The faster you get out there, the faster we can put that bed to good use while Joe and Andy are at the show…” Pete’s eyes glimmer with mischief as he grins, pulling away as he walks out the door before the woman outside could knock again, leaving Patrick alone in the room.

The blue-green eyed singer is left to his own thoughts once more, but pushes them aside as he picks up his phone and scrolls through the pages and pages of praise given the fans, a few more telling him to take care and be careful, and less than a proper handful that spout rude comments. Patrick wasn’t going to lie, it still sucked that he messed up, but, like Pete said, he gave it his all, his best despite the crack in his voice, and he did have fun and it was all for the love of the music they make…

Because in the end, that’s why they started the band in the first place, and sometimes, Patrick needs to remember that _that’s_ really what matters.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated =) If you have any ideas or prompts, feel free to leave some!
> 
> The whole thing about Folie reference is based from what I read in a magazine interview. Apparently, Patrick became more focused on the perfection of his performance of each song rather than the joy of making music, and that, added with everything else that was going on within the band, just added to the stress, and from what I gathered, at least from Patrick's end, didn't make him very lovable and happy during the Folie Era at one point... Just thought I'd clear that up =) It's still an amazing album....just sayin'.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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